You might notice my little suitcase next to me. It's where I stopped with it when I got home yesterday morning by my closet door. I'll get around to dumping it, but I've been getting into Ramblin' Jack Elliot lately and had not had a chance to figure out any of his songs on the guitar so I grabbed my old Gretch and worked out "Railroad Bill." His picking is just different enough from mine that it took me about half an hour to shake forty-two years of my way of thinking so that I could get my mind and fingers around how I think Ramblin' Jack was playing it. This sort of thing feels just the same as it did in 1963 when I was figuring out Beatles songs sitting on my bed in Prattville, Alabama. I have that same look on my face that I had then, just longer hair and more facial hair among other signs of aging. It still brings me just as much joy to unravel someone's music like that.
As you can see, Clyde and Sass were riveted by my performance.

We're sticking around the house and cooking out, swimming and getting too much sun while I prepare to head for Europe. Home feels like a private resort to me right now. It's still quiet from the holiday weekend. Not too many people are rushing to get back into work mode and that is just hunky dory with me. Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to unpack those things. I'm a rebel, can't you see? Living on the edge, man. Don't cross my path...

TS